THE Princess, whose heart was sad enough already, could have wished that FERAMORZ had chosen a less melancholy story; as it is only to the happy that tears are a luxury. Her ladies, however, were by no means sorry that love was once more the Poet's theme; for, whenever he spoke of love, they said, his voice was as sweet as if he had chewed the leaves of that enchanted tree which grows over the tomb of the musician, Tan-Sein.2 235 Their road all the morning had lain through a very dreary country;- through valleys, covered with a low bushy jungle, where, in more than one place, the awful signal of the bamboo staff,286 with the white flag at its top, reminded the traveller that, in that very spot, the tiger had made some human creature his victim. It was, therefore, with much pleasure that they arrived at sunset in a safe and lovely glen, and encamped under one of those holy trees whose smooth columns and spreading roofs seem to destine them for natural temples of religion. Beneath this spacious shade, some pious hands had erected a row of pillars ornamented with the most beautiful porcelain,287 which now supplied the use of mirrors to the young maidens, as they adjusted their hair in descending from the palankeens. Here, while, as usual, the Princess sat listening anxiously, with FADLADEEN in one of his loftiest moods of criticism by her side, the young Poet, leaning against a branch of the tree, thus continued his story : — ކ، ޕ THE morn hath risen clear and calm, And curl the shining flood beneath, - In the clear dawn, - bespangled o'er With dew, whose night drops would not stain. The best and brightest scimitar 242 That ever youthful Sultan wore On the first morning of his reign. And see -the Sun himself!. on wings Of glory up the East he springs. Angel of Light! who from the time Those heavens began their march sublime, Hath first of all the starry choir Trod in his Maker's steps of fire! Where are the days, thou wondrous sphere, And bind her ancient faith in chains: Or on the snowy Mossian mountains, Where Freedom and his God may lead, Than be the sleekest slave at home That crouches to the conqueror's creed! Is IRAN's pride then gone forever, Quench'd with the flame in MITHRA's caves? No-she has sons, that never -never Will stoop to be the Moslem's slaves, While heaven has light or earth has graves;- And hearts where, slow but deep, the seeds Till, in some treacherous hour of calm, They burst, like ZEILAN's giant palm,245 2 Whose buds fly open with a sound Yes, EMIR! he, who scal'd that tower, How safe e'en tyrant heads may rest- Who loathe thy haughty race and thee; E'en for one bleeding moment free, And die in pangs of liberty! Thou know'st them well-'tis some moons since Thy turban'd troops and blood-red flags, Thou satrap of a bigot Prince, Have swarm'd among these Green Sea crags; Yet here, e'en here, a sacred band Ay, in the portal of that land Thou, Arab, dar'st to call thy own Their spears across thy path have thrown; Rebellion foul, dishonoring word, Whose wrongful blight so oft has stain'd How many a spirit, born to bless, Hath sunk beneath that withering name, Whom but a day's, an hour's success Had wafted to eternal fame! As exhalations, when they burst From the warm earth, if chill'd at first, And turn to sun-bright glories there! And who is he, that wields the might Of Freedom on the Green Sea brink, The eyes of YEMEN's warriors wink? Cling to their country's ancient rites, "Tis HAFED · name of fear, whose sound And palsy shakes the manliest arm. Lest HAFED in the midst should rise! |